The Hogwarts' Librarian
by Anrheithwyr
Summary: Irma cares more for her books than she does for looks. She just wishes everyone else felt the same way.


Irma had never been a pretty girl, and she would always have been the first to tell anyone so, as though they could not simply look at her face and see for themselves.

With pale skin, sunken cheeks, a shrivelled face, and a hook nose, Irma had spent much of her life hearing jokes from others, students and colleagues both, about how much she resembled a vulture, a thought that was only further spread by Irma's nature of lurking over other's, hovering by their shoulder whenver they were attempting to get something done.

The comments that had chased her since the age of eleven barely even affected Irma anymore, as she had discarded any thought of all her merciless bullies nearly thirty years ago, the day she had been hired on as Hogwarts' official librarian following the death of their previous one, a haggard old crone named Tollys Crocker, whom Irma had quickly found out was very relaxed about the Hogwarts' books.

There were many tomes, anicent and rare, that had gone missing during Tollys' time at Hogwarts, a full seventy-one years, in which students had come and gone, rubbing sticky fingers over the books, touching them with ink-stains hands, removing these precious old books from their shelves and simply never bringing them back, instead forgetting about the books sitting at the bottom of their trunks, quickly forgotten and abandoned.

Irma remembered Madam Crocker from her own time at Hogwarts, remembered how frustrated she had been to see Madam Crocker barely even bothering to write down the names of who was currently in possession of which book at any given time, and the way there were just certain books that were never there, no matter how hard Irma looked for them.

It had been Madam Crocker's poor treatment of the library books that had encouraged Irma to become the librarian as soon as she could, to rescue the books that remained at Hogwarts, and to ensure that no student ever again had to suffer the indignity of not being able to find a book that they so desperately needed to further fuel their thirst for knowledge.

She had always put the need for information and knowledge above silly, vapid things like looks, of which Irma was firmly aware she had none.

Though she had spent her seven years at Hogwarts amongst the Ravenclaws, the supposed intellectuals of the school, she had often found that, even with the other Ravenclaws, it seemed that she was the only one who truly cared about her schoolwork more than anything else.

Was it possible that the last of the great intellectualism had died before Irma's time? She would hate to think that these past thirty years as a Hogwarts librarian had been wasted, but many of the students who had traipsed through her library had seemed, at best, bored by the vast range of knowledge available to them, and at worst, downright disgruntled at the idea of having to _study_ just to pass their classes.

The thought horrorified her, the idea that there were simply so many students who simply did not care that, in the very same building where they were so busy goofing off, was a room filled to the brim with so much knowledge that Irma often found herself weepy at the very thought of it all; the library had been _her_ first true home, and it scared her that, in thirty years, she had not found anyone else who felt the same way as she did.

"Hello?" called a soft voice, pulling Irma from her thoughts, and as she bustled out from behind her desk, smoothing down her black robes and adjusting the veil on her head-the same veil she had worn since she was seventeen, to mourn her father-Irma noticed that the voice belonged to a short, red-haired girl with a freckly face and curiousity-filled brown eyes.

"Did you want something, dear?" Irma asked the girl gently, for she recognised the robes of a fellow Ravenclaw, the sort of people to whom Irma was always kind and helpful. The girl, no more than a first year no doubt, was now gawking up at Irma, entranced by the veil covering most of Irma's face, hiding all but her mouth, which was, as always, covered in the dust of a thousand year's worth of books that filled the Hogwarts' library.

"I wanted…" the girl hesitated, but Irma gave her an encouraging nod to continue, "I wanted to know if you could help me with something, please, ma'am? I've heard you have a large collection of books about werewolves, and I was interested in reading some, if you don't mind. Only, I really _love_ libraries. There was a library near my house, up until recently, but they tore it down because hardly anyone ever visited and there simply wasn't enough money to keep it running. I was terribly sad when they shut the place. I used to go everyday…"

Irma smiled down at the first year, who was so polite, and in this litte thing, she saw herself, eleven years old, standing in front of Madam Tallys Crocker's desk, begging to be allowed access to all the different books that filled these shelves.

She was also reminded of the last girl who had walked these halls who was the closest to information-obsesses as Irma had been; what had that girl's name been, that little messy-haired muggleborn who was always hanging on with two boys?

"I'm Rose Weasley, by the way," the girl murmured politely, sticking out to shake Irma's hand, which surprised the librarian.

She had not been touched by anyone in quite some time, as most of the students seemed to be horrified by Irma's unpleasant appearance; but she took Rose Weasley's hand anyway-trying to recall why the surname seemed familiar-and shook, wondering if maybe the craving of knowledge had not entirely left Hogwarts just yet.


End file.
